When It All Falls Apart
by NiraJean
Summary: A terrible accident forces Scarlett to slowly pick up the pieces of her shattered life - with or without Rhett.
1. Chapter 1

**When It All Falls Apart **

****Chapter 1:****

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><p>Without too much protest, Scarlett O'Hara allowed her maid, Pansy, to place a cold compress on her forehead and adjust her feet so that they rested comfortably on the chaise lounge. She had fled to her room the moment Rhett left, if only to begin packing her portmanteau for Charleston - she would follow him there, whether he liked it or not, if only to prove her sincerity. But then, Pansy had uncomfortably drawn her out of her frenzy and reminded her that Melly was dead. Dead. As if she could have forgotten long! But Rhett was gone - two whole hours gone! He could already be on the train to Charleston for all she knew. Scarlett looked at the small china clock opposite her chair. Two o'clock. Melly had been dead for three hours and Rhett gone for two.<p>

Already Mrs. Meade and Mrs. Meriweather had turned up knocking, demanding that Scarlett receive them and wanting only to tell her that Ashley, India, and Aunt Pittypat were too grief-stricken to deal effectively with the undertaker or handle any of Melly's arrangements, for that matter. As Melly's former sister-in-law, Scarlett was next in line for the task, and the two matrons had expected her to respond with more enthusiasm than she had, as though they had offered her the chance to become Queen of England - clearly her _Great balls of fire, leave me alone won't you? _had taken the women by complete surprise. Fleeing the foyer, she had barricaded herself and Pansy in her bedroom, only allowing the girl to leave once she had agreed to go over to the Wilkes's to see what exactly was required of her. As if to add to her misery, her splitting headache showed no sign of letting up. Perhaps she had had too much to drink the night before. No, she rethought, I didn't have a thing to drink last night - I was at Melly's, waiting for her to wake up - waiting for her to …die.

How could Rhett leave her now? Now that she was expected to take up the mantle of responsibility for not only Ashley and Beau, but Melly's wake and funeral as well. It was incredible, really, that Rhett would leave her. And not a word out of him but that awful, uncaring _My dear, I don't give a damn_. Not a sigh, not a tear. Even as she had pleaded with him and cried and laid her whole heart out for him only to throw it back at her with those cruel, callous words. She had truly thought that if she had only held her emotions in check, Rhett would have seen how she accepted the situation and he would have been proud of her resilience. But the fact that he had gone through with leaving even at a time like this made her wonder now if he had ever really loved her at all. What the devil was she to think? God's nightgown, but she couldn't think of it all right now, not with the throbbing headache she was suffering from.

A loud knock at her door made her sit up with a start, thinking in a moment of madness that it was Rhett, hat in hand, saying that all was forgiven.

It was not Rhett.

Ashley came in, wearing no jacket, his grey eyes red rimmed and swollen.

"Your maid said you weren't feeling well, Scarlett."

No mention of Melly. Nor their conversation of three hours prior, in which he had told her once and for all that it was Melly he had always loved, not her, Scarlett. There he was in her room, without even a guilty look.

"Nothing that won't right itself by this afternoon, Ashley," Scarlett said, standing up and staring at him warily. He was clearly not himself, and she only hoped that he hadn't been driven mad by Melly's death - surely not!

"That's nice," Ashley said, sitting down at the edge of her bed. My God, Scarlett thought to herself, appalled. He really is terribly drunk! But how to get him out before someone noticed him inside her house?

"Where is your husband?" Ashley inquired, as though he had merely dropped in for afternoon tea. Scarlett wasn't prepared to discuss the matter of Rhett's leaving with anyone just yet, particularly Ashley, and most especially with him in such a shameful condition. Ashley never imbibed so much as two glasses of sherry at dinner; although, Scarlett admitted ruefully, if Melly's death didn't drive him to drink, she didn't know what would. But surely he wouldn't …an uncomfortable premonition reared its ugly head.

"What do you think you're doing in my bedroom, Ashley?"

"Well, I suppose I came by to say hello."

"Hello?"

"Yes."

"You just, thought you'd go out?"

"Yes. If you've not noticed, my dear, it's an absolutely lovely day. Just perfect for going calling."

God's nightgown, _calling_? How drunk was he?

"Oh yes, I simply could wait no more, my dear," he said, standing up and drawing closer to her.

Scarlett was speechless, and before she could recover, Ashley had leaned his face close and put his lips on hers. Her eyes flared and she instinctively slapped the side of his face, which only seemed to encourage him.

"Pansy!" Scarlett screamed, then fairly flew toward the door, hoping that someone in the house would be alarmed by the harried tone of her voice. Someone had to get Ashley out and under control before someone noticed that he was missing -

"Don't make me wait now, Scarlett," Ashley said in that awful voice that was not his own, grabbing her arm in order to gain her attention.

"Ashley, stop this! You understand me?" She looked up at him, thinking that never in her life had he put a forceful hand on her. She was at a loss how to respond, but instinct told her to jerk her arm back. His grip held.

"Stop it, Ashley! You've got to get home!"

He was grinning stupidly at her, as if he enjoyed the challenge - as though she was one of Belle Watling's girls, not Scarlett at all - she was appalled.

Was she supposed to stand there and argue with him? Not likely. She needed only to get him out before someone walked in and witnessed them coming out of her bedroom. Again she drew back her hand and let it make impact with his face, and this time he let her arm go to jump back and avoid the slap. He avoided being hit, but then pushed her forward into the door and out into the hallway. She shoved him away forcefully, and her nostrils flared with anger and outrage. She gave him her back, safely now in the hall. If only she could get to one of her male servants to see him home…

Suddenly, he was behind her again, and put his hand over her mouth and pinned her against the wall.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered into her ear.

Her scream died abruptly in her throat. This could not be happening. Not Ashley, not her perfect, honorable Ashley. Her face and chest were shoved against the wall, her hair was freed from its chignon and she felt his hard elbow at her back. He was holding her arms so tightly at the center of her back so that she was held still. God's nightgown, he means to possess me - well by God, he will not!

She had to get away from him in his lunacy, whatever it took. She dug the sharp heel of her shoe into his shin hard enough to shock him.

"I'm very close to screaming my head off, Ashley!" she warned him, walking backwards toward the staircase. "Now I'm telling you to stop, so -"

He lunged at her, in one final act of desperation, although it was not as forceful as before. She let out a choked little scream, then felt herself trip on something. She stepped out of one shoe, then pitched backward, Ashley's stunned face the last thing she saw before she was surrounded by total darkness…

**. . . .**

Scarlett O'Hara awoke to find herself in a room that she didn't recognize offhand- a large bedroom suite adorned in a style she didn't recognize. The bed sheets were made from expensive looking white satin. Wealth, clearly. The furniture looked as if it was custom made to match the big bed she was laying in, all fit for a queen. A nice house, to be sure! Nicer than any in the County. Saratoga, she was sure. Yes, she must have fainted in the hot sun. Mother would be mortified, she thought with horror.

"Scarlett - Scarlett! Doctor, see, she's awake!"

The flow of words came as a man hurried across the room and dropped onto the side of the bed and grabbed hold of her hands, but tenderly. He was old, at least forty, if not more, with black hair, a proud, patrician nose and forceful chin. A handsome, well-bred face to be sure, but far too old to be considered a beau.

"Scarlett?" he asked, his tone a cross between irritated and hopeful.

"I suppose I owe you thanks," she responded, unsure.

"For what, my pet?" he asked quietly, then in a lower tone, "You do know who I am, don't you, Scarlett?"

"Of course," she lied, if only to soothe his vanity. At sixteen, she knew that even men as old as this one liked to be noticed. "You saved me, after I fainted. How much longer must I lay here? Where's Mother and Pa?"

He lowered his black eyes, and said gently, "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Of course I do," she tried again. "But I would dearly like my Mother, if you would be so kind as to bring her to me…"

"All in good time," he replied calmly, then stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I need to have a word with the good doctor first."

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><p><strong>Please be gentle, this is my very first GWTW fanfic … Constructive feedback is certainly welcomed! -NJ<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Morning Has Broken**

**Chapter 2:**

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><p>Scarlett's bath was delivered late in the afternoon, or was it early in the evening? She wasn't sure how long she had been asleep, and there was no clock in the room that she could see. She watched with interest as a trio of maids came and went, each bobbing little curtseys in her direction and addressing her as "Miss Scarlett". A few times, she had tried to make conversation, but had failed to determine where she was and in whose house. Finally, the maids had appeared again, carrying a porcelain tub, which one of them had filled with steaming water and another with a small tube of oil, which made the whole room smell like roses, Scarlett's favorite. Just as she was about to protest that she had no need of a bath, and certainly not in a stranger's house, the man from before came into the room.<p>

Testing the water with three fingers, he smiled. "A nice hot bath, Scarlett?"

She cleared her throat, confused. Her mother would never allow her to bathe in the home of a strange man!

"Sir, why - I simply cannot."

"Why is that, Scarlett?"

She sat up primly in bed. "It's Miss O'Hara, if you please."

She thought that he looked as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I apologize, _Miss_ O'Hara. I thought by way of me being an old friend, you would allow me the liberty of addressing you informally, do forgive me."

"An old friend?" She was genuinely puzzled. She had a fair memory for faces, and this man was one she would have recalled, surely. "Of whom, sir? Surely not mine?"

His eyes seemed to dance with a boyish mischief despite his harried expression. "You really don't know me, Scarlett?"

"I believe I've said as much, sir," She glanced up again, having enough of his arrogance. "And if you're offering the bath, I'll take it, so long as I am given privacy."

She looked at him pointedly, just in case he had not taken her meaning.

He rolled his eyes. "Very well, Scarlett. Avail yourself of the water while it's still warm. When you're finished, call for Pansy and she'll help you to dress for dinner."

Dinner? "Sir! My parents would have my head if I remained at your home unchaperoned for dinner."

Again, the half smile. "Your father and I know each other, Scarlett. And I've known your mother since she was a Savannah belle. You have nothing to fear from me, for your reputation or otherwise…" he paused, as though he had recalled something painful. "…besides, I am a married man."

She nodded, placated by his reassurance. Married was he? That was good at least. Although, why he had been there when she had awoken and not his wife, she did not know. Perhaps his wife was sickly, like that mealy-mouthed Melanie Hamilton, Ashley's cousin. Or perhaps she had gone visiting when Scarlett had fainted, and the gentleman, being an old friend of her Pa's had insisted on driving her back to her hotel … But where was Mammy? Mammy would have never let her out of her sight. Unless …unless something horrible had befallen Mammy and she, Scarlett, had fainted as a result. The fact that she did not remember made her uneasy, not to mention vulnerable. Her mother had warned her about being on her best behavior in Saratoga, that catching an eligible man's eye was essential and not likely to happen if she did not act with proper decorum at all times.

And here she was, in a stranger's bedroom, having a bath at a stranger's home. She put a hand to the back of her head and felt a large knot. God's nightgown! She must have fainted much harder than she had thought.

It was the youngest looking of the three maids who came into the room to help her into the bath. Scarlett didn't particularly want any help, but she was somewhat unsteady on her feet when she stood up, so she leaned on the girl for support despite her protests. The girl had clearly been instructed to ignore them, and she said nothing in reply as Scarlett removed the silk wrapper and cotton shift she had been wearing. Good lord, but that wrapper was a pretty thing! She'd never seen its equal in all the County. Suellen and Careen would be pea green with envy!

Then, the girl helped her in, and let her sit in the hot water until her skin glowed pink. It was glorious, and it did soothe her sore muscles. She examined her legs, which were covered in bruises and her left ankle was swollen. She felt so very stiff, as if she had fallen from a great height.

"Who is your master?" she addressed the girl. "What's your family's name?"

"Ma'am?" the dark faced girl looked bewildered.

"Your family's name?"

"Well, Ah's workin' for Mist' Butler, ma'am. Mist' Rhett Butler."

"Rhett Butler," Scarlett tried out the name. It was vaguely familiar, but she could not place it. Perhaps he did know her Pa, but not socially. Perhaps they had done business a time or two. But how would he know her mother?

"And what does he do?" she asked calmly.

The girl shook her head. "Ah's doan know dat."

She heaved a frustrated sigh, then stood up in the tub and allowed the girl to wrap a towel around her, then a silk dressing gown. The girl then guided her back to the big bed and moved to pull back the covers. Scarlett cried out: "I thought that I was dressing for dinner?"

"Yes'm," the girl reassured her. "Ah's gwine ter get it now."

Scarlett nodded, and returned to the bed. It really was feather soft …so very inviting. A minute or two later, the man returned, carrying a tray in his hands.

"Sir!" Scarlett was mortified, and pulled the covers up to her neck. "I certainly did not expect."

"Forgive me, my dear Scarlett."

"Where is my Mother? I want to see Mother now and if you know her like you say, you'll send for her!"

"All in good time, my dear."

"Don't call me that!"

"I must warn you, Scarlett, the doctor was quite insistent that you do not overexcite yourself."

"Overexcite! Why you've kidnapped me and I want to go home and …"

"You are home, Scarlett."

She looked up at him. He really was a most lecherous man, looking down at her like that, as though he knew what she looked like underneath her shimmy. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He sat down at the edge of the bed and sighed. "What's the use? You don't know me, do you?"

She shook her head. "I certainly do not, and I'll thank you to leave now."

"Would you not like your dinner?"

She did want dinner. She was hungry and had no idea when the last time she had eaten had been. But she wasn't about to give him the wrong idea…

"You may take it back to the kitchen. I certainly won't take a bite."

"You need to eat, Scarlett. Here." He brought the tray forward. "And you'll eat it all or I'll forcefeed you myself."

Visions of him holding her down and shoving food down her throat sent a shiver down her spine. For all that those burly hands had held her so gently, they could easily tear her apart.

"Fine," she sniffed. "I can't imagine that a friend of my Pa would treat me this way."

"Treat you what way, Scarlett?"

"Like a child and…like a… loose woman!"

He raised an eyebrow. "At the same time? I wonder how I managed to do that?"

"You don't even deny it?"

He shook his head. "I suppose that your conduct dictates my handling of you, my dear."

"My conduct? I certainly did not ask to faint."

"But you allowed a man in your room, Miss O'Hara?"

Now he had her completely confused. A man? A beau?

"I am quite sure that I do not understand."

"Does the name Ashley Wilkes mean anything to you?"

She could feel hot color on her face. Why, surely _he_ couldn't know that she liked Ashley. No one, not even her dearest friends knew that she liked Ashley. But how?

"I certainly do. He is my dearest friend and neighbor."

"And a real gentleman, I take it."

"Yes."

"The paragon of chivalry."

"You could say that."

"And you're madly in love with him?"

"Why, I -" she paused. She did love Ashley. In as much as her fifteen-year-old heart could love Ashley. "I don't know what you are talking about."

He shook his head, then returned his attention to the tray. "Here. Eat."

She took it into her lap and ate a few bites, having suddenly lost her appetite. The smoked salmon was exquisitely prepared, but she was longing for something more like what she was used to at home. Roast chicken and potatoes would have been lovely. And he had brought her white wine to drink when all she really wanted was iced water. How long had it been since she had had anything to drink?

"You don't like it, do you?" Again, that look of concern.

She sighed, "No sir, it's very fine."

"Would you like something else? Anything you want, I can supply."

She smiled then. "Potatoes? Oh, with lots of butter, please. And carrots, if you have them."

"I thought that you said that you'd never eat another root vegetable so long as you lived…"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'd have very little to eat at Tara if I had said that, sir."

He shook his head, then set the tray on an end table and said, "Don't go anywhere. I'll see if I can find you something more to your liking."

"Thank you," she responded, pleased in spite of herself. He wasn't a bad looking man, after all. Far too old to be one of her beaux, of course, but not bad looking just the same.

She heard the sound of high-pitched voices emitting from the hallway. A child, or was it two children, yelling: "Uncle Rhett, Uncle Rhett!"

Uncle Rhett, was he? Not Pa or Daddy. Curiosity overcame her, and she stood up from bed and walked over to the bedroom door and peaked out through the crack.

Rhett, or whatever his name was, was on his knees, holding a little girl of about seven by the shoulders and speaking softly to her. The boy, her brother, Scarlett supposed, was a little older, and was clearly shaken by whatever Rhett was saying. She only heard snippets: "Your mother…" and "Accident."

She began to pace around the room, then after about a dozen circles, took a seat next to the nearby vanity, took a silver brush from the top drawer, and began to run it through her hair. Imagine, she thought with amusement, Scarlett O'Hara experiencing nerves over a man old enough to be my Pa!

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, and was pleased to see how fine she looked in the green silk dressing gown. Her eyes, slanting and catlike, flared enormously. Her mother always said that they were her best feature, brilliant in their color. Her skin was magnolia white, smooth and unblemished but for …laugh lines? When had those appeared? And … she stood up and untied the sash, allowing the dressing gown to fall in a heap at her feet. Her waist was larger than it should be, and she could see little veins that had not been there before. And she was … older. Not old, exactly, but…older than she should be.

She heard footsteps, and reflexively crossed her arms over her bare breasts. Her breath came in a little gasp, and she let out a small scream as he entered, another tray in his hands, which he sat down immediately after he said: "God damn it."

She hurriedly ducked down, then retrieved her robe and twisted over onto her back in the middle of the bed and began screaming: "I want to go home! Now! I want to go home to my Mother!"

Her state of dishabille and the strange man were forgotten in her fit of despair, that she had aged over the course of an afternoon and she was being kept from her mother.

Her eye turned to a corner, and she saw him. Still standing there, he had moved to the bedpost, and was leaning casually against it.

"Remember anything yet?"

She looked up at him, still in shock. "What are you talking about? What have you done to me? You have to help me. I - I need-"

He sat down beside her and she quieted down. He took her hand in his large one. "What do you need, Scarlett?"

She didn't know. She wanted to say her mother, her father, Mammy, anyone …but the first word out of her mouth was: "Ashley."

He smiled then, a horrid half smile. "I'm afraid that I can't do that for you, my dear."

Then, he kissed her forehead, stood up, and left the room, shutting the door tightly behind him. Scarlett was too stunned to reply to him immediately, and he was gone before she could say a word.

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><p><strong>I wanted to thank everybody for your very nice reviews and messages … This is my very first attempt at fanfiction, and constructive feedback is oh-so-desired! -NJ<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**White Houses**

**Chapter 3:**

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><p>Scarlett was speechless, and before she could recover herself, he had waved and shut the door behind him. Her eyes flared, her panic momentarily forgotten as the most extraordinary thought occurred to her. <em>Surely this is a dream. Surely I'll wake up in my own bed at home and all of this will be a grand dream I can tell Ashley. No, I can't tell Ashley - he'd think that I'd gone crazy! <em>

"Help!" she cried aloud.

The dark-skinned maid appeared almost instantly in the doorway. "Miss Scarlett, ma'am?"

"Quickly, call that man - Mr. Butler - call him back here!"

The girl did as she was told, flying out of the room, alarmed as she was by Scarlett's tone. She caught up with him as he reached the bottom of the stairwell, and bid him to follow her back to the bedroom.

"Yes, Scarlett?"

His face was not nearly so kind this time, Scarlett thought wildly, her mind already racing back to their conversation of a few minutes before. The knowledge that he had seen her with no clothes on did little to help her anxiety, and she felt herself collapse weakly on the bed. "Please. You have to tell me what's happening to me."

She looked for understanding in his face and saw none. Only flashes of irritation and resentment.

"Of course, Scarlett. You fell. You remember very little about the actual event, if any at all."

She shook her head. "But where? And how? And why am I …?"

"Scarlett, I really don't feel like discussing this right now. I have some …business…to attend to. It's unfortunate that it has fallen to me, but it has. Listen, get some rest. Do. Scarlett? It's …nothing. I must go. Goodbye, Scarlett."

Scarlett leaped up from the edge of the bed. "But you'll be back soon, won't you?"

Again, that pained look of frustration. "I'm not certain."

"But …I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to."

Her mouth dropped open. "But - you're the only one who can help me! You know Mother and Pa, you said that you did! Now, tell me that I've not gone crazy or I'll …well…I will go crazy!"

He sighed. "Very well, Scarlett. I have to see to this business first, and then I'll return and try to explain it all to you."

"Could I come with you? On your business, I mean?"

"No."

"Why not? You can't leave me here, not alone. Please?"

"It's not ordinary business, Scarlett. And you certainly cannot come."

"Mist' Rhett?" A negro manservant wearing silk livery called from the hallway, clearly unwilling to enter the room.

Rhett turned. "Yes, Pork, what is it?"

"Porta done sent yah bags upenhere, suh. Ah's jes' s'posed ter keep 'em downdestairs, suh?"

Rhett's glanced flashed from the doorway, to Scarlett, then back to the doorway. "Tell the porter thank you, Pork. And give him a dollar for the trouble." He met her confused gaze and said, "I was at the train station when I was told of your …accident."

"Well, if you're not going to tell me what happened to me, then, could you at least tell me where you were headed?"

He nodded. "The first outgoing train to Charleston."

"Charleston?"

Again he nodded. "Are you familiar with the city, Scarlett?"

She nodded. ":I've been there. My Aunt Eulalie…" she paused, the memory having left her, and she put her hand to her temple. "Why, I'm sure that I …there were white houses everywhere. White stucco houses. But that's all I remember, the white …white houses."

His eyes widened, and he moved to catch her should she fall. "That's it, Scarlett. That's right. It's alright, honey."

"But I …I'm sure I remember. What …what's happening to me?"

"You …I don't know, Scarlett."

"Please, don't leave me here."

Her pathetic pleas stirred something in him which had gone to grave with their little daughter, gone too young. Was it, compassion? Reason told him to call for her maid to sit with her, then to flea the premises and not return. But this was not her fault. No, it was his if it was anyone's, for leaving her …not that he would have in a million years expected something of this nature to have come from Ashley. He sighed, pulling her close to him in an embrace. "I won't. I won't, Scarlett."

Her whole body turned toward him, as if stimulated by his touch. He jerked away, and she let out a little cry. "Please, stay?"

She was trembling. Would to God that it was out of need for him rather than fear. Damned if he still didn't want her! Even like this, vulnerable as she was. Then, the reason for her vulnerability flashed within his mind, and his anger returned. He placed her gently on the bed, then whispered that he would be back very soon. He would. As soon as he had a word with Mr. Ashley Wilkes.

**. . . . **

"What am I to do, Rhett?" Ashley was wiping his swollen red eyes with his sleeve, sobbing into his third cup of scalding coffee. "I have …disgraced myself…and I cannot bear to live with the knowledge that I have …hurt Scarlett."

"Hurt her?" Rhett Butler replied with supreme disdain as he stared down the other man. "You have the audacity to look me in the face and … never mind, Wilkes. You're not worth the effort."

"You are fully within your rights to shoot me. It wouldn't hurt me now. To go in the grave alongside Melly."

"A roadside ditch isn't good enough for you - let alone beside Miss Melly."

Ashley let out an awful wail. "You're right, of course. You're right. I'll leave then. The country, if I must. You can take care of Beau -"

"Shut your damned mouth." Ashley continued to weep until Rhett began to shake him roughly by the shoulders.

Ashley looked as if he had been struck. "What …am I supposed to do?"

"Unlock this door. Make yourself presentable to speak to the undertaker. Act a man for once in your life and try to make yourself worthy to be called Miss Melly's husband."

"I cannot face them - they'll know that Scarlett's ill - that I -"

Rhett shook his head. "You can thank the dull minded darkie Prissy that our butler sent for me at the train station before even Doctor Meade was called. Scarlett was there, at the bottom of the stairs, for twenty-two minutes with you just _standing_ there!"

"Go on, why don't you? You relish any reason to spite me - to hurl accusations."

"I don't need to hurl, Wilkes. I can speak the truth, and now that Miss Melly is at her eternal rest, with full candor. I never thought to have a cause to beat you within an inch of your life, thinking as I did that you were too honorable, too perfect in your sublimity. Well, by God I have that reason now -"

"You were leaving, weren't you?"

The jaw muscles tensed in Rhett's face.

"You were going to leave her…to…to face Atlanta's scorn and Melly's funeral by herself? I must have known that you'd do it too. Or I never would have thought to come to your house. But Scarlett was gone and I needed …I needed … Well, it matters little now, Rhett. Go ahead. Throw your punch. I'll ready myself …"

Rhett looked the other man over as though he possessed the inconsequentiality of a pesky fly in need of swatting. "No, don't bother. It was just a thought, and the pleasure of seeing you squirm. I have more respect for the memory of Miss Melly than to put her bereaved husband out of his misery. No, Wilkes, if you live with your own guilt - that's enough satisfaction for me."

Ashley let out a sigh. "How is Scarlett? I pray she is better -"

Rhett turned around slowly, then back, his fist connecting with Ashley's jaw and sending the other man spinning against the settee.

"Whatever Scarlett is, she is no longer a concern of yours. Now get downstairs before I change my mind about that beating."

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><p><strong>Hmmm... as this is my first venture into the GWTW fandom, I have been so encouraged by the nice reviews. Hopefully I'm doing alright as far as keeping everybody in character! Please leave me a review telling me what you thought; criticism is, of course, welcomed with sincere gratitude! Thank you! -NJ<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Bad Romance**

**Chapter 4:**

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><p>The words permanent memory loss had just been mentioned for the first time, and had come out of the mouth of old Doctor Meade. The elder exited the room behind Rhett, who held the door wide as the doctor advised the two ladies maids that their mistress was exhausted, and that he had administered a sleeping draft so that she could rest more comfortably.<p>

"I should have been summoned straightaway," Doctor Meade was saying. "Doctor Dean is little more than a backwoods idiot when it comes to delicate matters like this - but Rhett, I tell you truly, I have never seen it before in all my days of practice…first Melly and now this…bad business, Rhett, very bad, indeed."

Rhett took one last look into the dimly lit bedroom, his eyes searching out Scarlett's face. She appeared to be sleeping. But then, he noticed the way in which her teeth were gripping her lower lip, the way her eyes were painfully squeezed shut, and her fists clenching the folds of her nightgown.

"What is wrong with her?" he demanded as soon as they were alone in the hallway, his question addressed to the doctor in a tone which brooked no nonsense.

Doctor Meade hastily answered him, "I don't know that, yet. She seems to have feeling in her limbs, she is competent, and relatively alert. I can only say with certainly that she has no recollection of life beyond age fifteen or so. I can do what I can, but medicine can only serve a limited function - the human brain, you understand, is so complex-"

The doctor's rambling seemed to appease Rhett to a degree, and his expression relaxed somewhat, although not completely.

"I need to go," Meade said quickly, "Miss Melly's funeral is tomorrow at two and I'll come here straight after."

Rhett nodded, and old doctor silently took his leave.

He was not tired in the least, which was a surprise, seeing as in the course of a day he had first washed his hands of Scarlett only then to be dragged right back to her, the veritable bane of his existence. So Miss Melly's funeral would proceed tomorrow, he pondered with satisfaction. Perhaps his conversation with Ashley had accomplished that, at least. Although some loyalty to the memory of Miss Melly lingered within him, he felt that he had done his part by socking Ashley into cold, hard reality, and he was determined not to repeat the lesson. He was going to be rid of Wilkes, the man and the memory. If he could only rid himself of Scarlett…

Against his better judgment he opened the bedroom door and walked in, quietly taking a seat on the side of the bed nearest her face. Hesitantly, he stuck out a shaky hand and ran his fingers over her face, as though convincing himself that she was alive. She was, very much so.

"A few more hours, Mammy, please!"

Rhett smiled, thinking that she sounded like Bonnie. Her tone was so innocent, so childlike, and it suited her much better than the commanding way in which she ordered everyone, from the servants, to Ashley, to the children around…The sole reason that that attitude had not flown with him was that he had grown resistant to her over time. And it had taken the dissolution of their marriage for her to realize that he might have responded to kindness out of her, but even more to sincerity, qualities which she possessed only minimal traces of…but this new Scarlett, this Scarlett of old, had little about her that was not sincere. This Scarlett was merely terrified for her virtue and what her mother and Mammy would have thought at her behavior -

She stretched and let a yawn escape her mouth.

Are you awake, Scarlett?" he leaned closer to her face and coaxed her gently, thinking halfheartedly that perhaps she would wake up and know him and all would be normal - and then what, would he leave?

Her eyes opened on a level with his, their noses nearly touching. She blinked once, and he knew that the sleeping draft she had been given would make it hard for her to focus. She blinked again, and he tried to read into those eyes of hers. There was no recognition, nor surprise, either. Not much confusion, as before. It was almost as if she didn't see him at all. But surely she did. She pushed herself up on the pillows and looked him over, her eyes beginning at the top of his head and traveling down to his shoes, then back up again.

It was strangely unnerving, for all of her performance of this morning - this time, she found him sorely lacking in something.

Scarlett, although she said nothing aloud, was in fact having difficulty accepting that he was real, and again, alone in her bedroom. A married man, he had said. I'm going to be ruined, was her first thought. But he was there, and he had not left - and she needed that knowledge that someone would not leave her.

"Do you disappear at the stroke of midnight?"

Rhett laughed hollowly at that and pulled his pocket watch out of his vest pocket. "Well, I suppose we have three more hours to find out, don't we?"

Scarlett blushed bright crimson, thinking that he had taken her comment as some sort of an invitation, which was entirely not the case!

"Why are you still here? Will you at least tell me that?"

"If I am unwanted -"

"No, I want you to stay…but I want you to tell me, please."

He pondered what to say. Somehow he didn't think it entirely appropriate to throw the burden of his position of estranged husband on her just yet. "Scarlett, you and I, we know each other…quite well…It's unfortunate that you cannot remember-"

She let out a shriek, which frightened him, "You! You compromised me! And kidnapped me too, probably!"

He shook his head and gently put a finger to her lips. "I did not compromise you, Scarlett. I only assumed my…husbandly rights…but have not done so for some time-"

"Husband! You…you're my husband?"

"Don't tell me it's all coming back to you now?"

"Not at all. Oh God!" she moaned, which elicited another wry laugh from him.

"What is it, Scarlett? You find me repulsive, perhaps? Or too _old_ for your taste?"

She was still moaning as he posed the question, but then said quickly, "I'm not married! I'm not! I'm not!" She turned around and sobbed into her pillow, her shoulders convulsing as she let out those awful cries. Frankly, he didn't know what to do but to rub her back softly, just as he had done with Bonnie during one of her tantrums, and wait for it to pass. The sleeping draft did its work then, and she fell into a deep sleep, leaving her bewildered husband to his own musings.

How to proceed? Would he leave for Charleston, as he had thought - surely not yet, anyway - not with her so unstable. And there was Miss Melly's funeral, surely one of them needed to make an appearance and Scarlett certainly wasn't strong enough to do that. The children, who were lost as little puppies. Ashley Wilkes and Beau, who needed watching, Scarlett had reminded him of that responsibility during their last normal conversation - but what was normal, for them? He'd be damned if he knew…

**. . . .**

As the sun rose higher, the activity in the house increased. The maids were cleaning, preparing breakfast, and from down the hallway, he heard stirrings from the children's rooms. Wade needed his help shaving, for he had only just starting sprouting hair on the bottom of his chin and was not confident enough with the razor to handle it himself. The boy's hands were shaking as he asked him about his mother. How was she, and could they see her soon. Although Rhett's personal opinion was that if the idea of being a wife was so repugnant, being a mother would be even more so - but still, he promised Wade that he and Ella could see her very soon, but that right now, he needed them out of her way to better allow her to recover. Then, Wade had asked if he and Ella would attend their Aunt Melly's funeral, and although his first instinct was to say no, Rhett told Wade that he could accompany him, if he wished to pay his respects, but that Ella would not, because seven-year-olds should not witness such things.

He clapped the boy on the back as he took his leave, then knocked hesitantly on Scarlett's bedroom door and entered. She was sitting up in bed, still wearing her shift - and frantically she pulled the covers high to her neck.

"Oh God! Why are you still here? Why can't you at least have the decency to leave me alone?"

"I was merely -"

"I'm so ashamed, so very-"

"Whatever is there to be ashamed of, Scarlett? You've done nothing wrong."

"But I have, and I can't remember any of it - or you - oh why won't you go away?" Her shoulders were bent dejectedly, and she rocked back and forth giving him a tantalizing view of her smooth back and shoulders as he sat down beside her.

"You asked me to stay with you, Scarlett. And I did. As per your request."

She shook her head, saying nothing, which prompted him to ask casually, "You're not crying, are you?"

Like an angry child, she answered in a pout, "I never cry! But why don't you go?"

"Is that why you haven't asked one of the maids to dress you yet, you're hoping that I'll leave? If it is, you might as well give it up. I'm staying right here."

"Then I will!" she declared, attempting to stand up. "I'll go home to Tara right now, and as soon as I'm there, I'll know that all of this has been a dream. That you're not real, that none of this is real - and I'll be free to marry Ashley and - well, when I leave hear, it will be the last you ever see of me!"

He was only breaths away from telling her that she could do just that, marry Ashley and see the very last of _him_. But something about the way she said it struck something within him that was wholly unexpected. This was a fifteen-year-old's love, a love borne out of girlish infatuation…but why had he never seen it as that before? If he had owned that much insight into that toxic, twisted thing between Wilkes and his wife, he might have been able to understand why she pursued the woodenhead so doggedly.

Despite every ounce of common sense he possessed screaming that he should leave, immediately, he was slowly realizing that if he had the time, he would delight in getting to know this Scarlett better. She was so completely refreshing in her purity, in her innocence - this was his deepest wish fulfilled, to be allowed to know her before two bad marriages and the war had done terrible things to her.

Impulsively, he moved to face her and asked, "Would you like for me to help you dress?"

She snorted indignantly, "That does not deserve an answer."

"Careful, Scarlett, or I'll begin to think that you don't like me."

"I don't know you. And what I do know, I do not like! You're no gentleman, I know that much!"

She looked pleased with her insult, but he retorted, "A complement, my dear. But I do know you, very well, it seems. And deep down, I think that you know me too. Dare I say it, you might even like me, on some days."

"I know your name and that you have a wife. But I'm not her, sir.

At his knowing smirk, Scarlett clinched her fists in desperation. This man was truly disarming, what with that smile, those velvety eyes…until that moment, with her energy focused upon her attempts at remembering what had happened to her, she was quite unaware of the good looks of the man before her. But he was that, very much a man, and his presence shook her to her very core. She noticed his attire, or lack thereof: a loose fitted white shirt, unbuttoned to the chest paired with fitted beige trousers. His feet were bare and his chest, revealed by the open shirt, was also bare. His hair was falling into his face, as though he had just woken and had not bothered to comb it properly.

He looked …like a husband in his own bedroom…God's nightgown, it hadn't occurred to her that she could be in that very place, alone…

She was saved from making further conversation by a smallish rush of coppery curls and a gingham patterned day dress, which landed smack dab into that man Rhett's arms. It was a little girl, around seven or eight, and she clearly claimed Rhett's full attention.

"W-want M-mother!" she cried.

"I told her no -" a boy, about twelve or so, appeared in the doorway, "She wouldn't listen, don't be mad, please, Uncle Rhett!"

Rhett's whole demeanor changed as he scooped the little girl up and rounded on the boy. "I told you to keep her out of here!"

"I'm sorry!" he offered quickly, looking terrified. "She wouldn't listen!"

"Which is beside the point," Rhett said sharply. "It's no wonder that - stop crying, Ella!"

Scarlett was not amused by the autocratic display of his temper. These were children, clearly his niece and nephew, and he was behaving as though their intrusion had been a criminal offense.

"I don't care what it is! In the future you will ask for permission before barging in here- no matter the hour, no matter the reason!"

"Stop it!" Scarlett screamed, which seemed to startle both Rhett and the two children. "She's scared to death, can't you see that? And for what, wanting her Mother?"

Rhett drew in a breath, and looked warningly at Ella, hoping that she remembered their discussion of the night previous.

She rubbed her nose with her sleeve and nodded in understanding before fleeing the room, the wide-eyed boy behind her.

"Why did you yell at her like that?" Scarlett demanded. "What did she do?"

Until now, he had exhibited no such variable disposition - to see this man who claimed to be her husband in such a temper terrified her. This was no kind, compassionate man: this was a monster, a horrid monster! And if he could deal with the children so cruelly, imagine how he might deal with her!

He looked slightly abashed at having lost control, and said softly. "I'll see about some breakfast for you." With that, he quit the room and shut the door softly behind him. She lay still in bed and listened closely as his footsteps reverberated in the hallway, her heart hammering in her chest. She had to get out of here and back home, quickly. A door slammed and she could make out another exchange between him and the boy, who seemed close to tears. Several minutes later, she then heard him speak quietly to the maid standing at her own door, who entered without him and opened the curtains to allow the sun to shine in the dark room.

"Mist' Rhett say he gwine ter Miss Melly's house to pay his'spects b'fore the fun'ral, Miss Scarlett. He be back in'n hour. Ah's s'posed ter get you all dressed."

The maid disappeared into a large closet with a simple black dress in her hand, along with a pair of silk stockings and practical low-heeled slippers.

Quickly assessing her options, Scarlett decided to gamble. She smiled broadly at the maid and said, "I really am feeling much better. I can certainly dress myself, and you can go down to the kitchen and get my breakfast."

The girl looked surprised, but nodded and did as she was told. Scarlett wasted no time flying from the bed to the window, where she saw the carriage being readied and Rhett, dressed more appropriately in a dark suit, getting into the conveyance.

As soon as she was certain that he was gone, she shakily slipped into the simple black midday dress that had been laid out, fumbling with the buttons and feeling grateful that there were so few, before opening the door quietly and tiptoeing through it, closing it with equal silence. With none in the hallway, she seized her opportunity and crept down the stairs, and with no hesitation, exited from the front door.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks to everybody who has read and reviewed! I really get ideas from your comments, as well as feedback, which is great! Please keep them coming! :) <strong>**-NJ**


	5. Chapter 5

**Space**

**Chapter 5:**

* * *

><p>Scarlett had walked aimlessly through the city which she had no memory of ever entering. She thought about asking a passerby if they might know her Pa, where he was or where he was staying, but shook aside the notion as she remembered that she had only just escaped from her former jail. If she could only find someone - anyone - that she knew! But where was she? Not Atlanta, surely? She had only been there once, with her Pa, and it was a quaint, country town, not the sprawling, bustling city this was!<p>

She slid into the alleyway, not noticing the curious looks she was attracting from a group of women in mourning clothes. The most senior of the women shook her head and said loudly, "Well, I never…"

Scarlett was already gone before the lady had a chance to finish. She was so, so tired. And hungry!

She sat down on her knees, hoping that there were no unsavory characters lurking in the shadows of the alley. She was so alone. Utterly and completely alone. Desperately, she considered her options. If she could only find some money, she could surely find a train station and buy herself a ticket to Jonesboro and home. A lady traveling alone…her mother's words regarding such ladies rang in her ears. A lady of quality would have never allowed herself to get into the situation in which she now found herself. Why hadn't she listened to Mammy? Surely that was what had happened: she had been abducted by that horrible man. Perhaps he had drugged her, or knocked her unconscious in some way. Perhaps he had even…used her. Dear God! He had called himself her husband. Perhaps he was crazy, and that was that. But either way, she was fallen, ruined…done for.

She rubbed her wet eyes. If she could only get a boy to exchange clothes with her so that she could remain unseen. That could work, she thought excitedly: boys' pants and boots and a jacket and a wide-brimmed hat…The Lord knew that there were plenty of those around!

She scanned the street, searching for any other person who might be of help. She could see the group of women who had spoken in her presence, and they were pointing in the direction of the alleyway…and her!

Fingers crossed, she prayed that they would leave and forget about her. She hunkered down behind the brick building, feeling sure that the women were suspiciously staring right at her. All they needed was one more glance, and surely one of them would know that Captain Butler fiend, tell him where she was, and he would undoubtedly come and get her -

She shuddered.

Her unease grew and her hands started to shake. Furtive movement at the far end of the building caught her eyes. The group of women had all been momentarily distracted. It was her chance to run without being seen. Her heart hammering, she fled, charging through the alley and past the matrons, one of which she heard yell: "There!"

A figure was heading her direction from fifteen yards away. A potbellied old man with a hat was striding quickly toward her.

"Scarlett! What the devil?"

"Get away from me!" she yelped, attempted to brush him by, but he grabbed her hand, his grip surprisingly firm.

Another man - one with golden hair - burst from one of the houses sitting adjacent to the street. Without a thought, she whirled away and attempted to flee in the opposite direction, but the old man had both hands on her wrist.

"Let me go, you! Let me go!" she screamed.

"Scarlett! Stop this madness! Don't you know me? Damn it, Scarlett, stop thrashing! Ashley, what's this?"

Scarlett's eyes widened at the name, and she pivoted around to see its owner.

And she knew exactly who it was.

"Ashley?" she half screamed.

She jumped on him and wrapped her arms around his neck, clearly startling him and making the old man let out a disapproving groan.

"Not here, I beg you…" he was muttering.

Scarlett realized that Ashley's arms were still at his sides. "Ashley, is it you, really? Is it really you, darling? Oh Ashley! Ashley!"

"Scarlett…I…" he attempted to speak, his words catching in his throat.

"For shame!" she heard the group of matrons she had been running from each emit little gasps of outrage as they passed.

"Why are they dressed like that? Ashley? Why are they staring - did - did someone die?"

"Die? Dear Jesus, Scarlett!" the old gentleman looked mortified. "What's come over you? Melanie's _dead_, it's her wake - what the _hell!_? I need…Scarlett! What the hell's come over you, girl?"

Ashley was still staring at her, as if unsure of what he was seeing.

"Oh Ashley, I've got to go…I've got to get out of here right now and go home. And I want you to go with me, now!"

"Shut up, Scarlett, for God's sake!" the old man was turning purple now. "Ashley, keep her quiet, won't you? Shut up, I tell you, Scarlett! Shut up!" The man finally took off for the house as fast as his short bow legs would take him and nearly ploughing into the group of outraged spectators.

"Ashley? Let's go! Hurry!" Scarlett looked up at his face desperately. Good God, but he was so old looking! Not her golden prince at all, but a lonely, broken old man.

"Ashley?"

"Scarlett," he whispered, "I am so, so sorry."

"Ashley?"

He looked at the door of the house and so did she - it was the old man again and - _him_! She saw his clenched hands relax…and he started after her.

She turned and fled, leaving Ashley standing in the street.

She didn't know where she was headed, but she didn't care. She was quick and she was nimble and she would be faster than him darting through the busy street. Once she had lost him, she would be safe.

But he was steadily gaining on her.

His heavy footsteps were reverberating against the cobblestone street and he seemed only inches behind her - desperate, she hiked up her skirts in an effort to give herself more speed, but she missed the street corner - and ricocheted flat onto the hard street. She felt her jaw connect with the stone and could taste blood in her mouth, but cried out in pain as she felt a huge weight striking her in the middle of her back.

He locked his arms around her and pulled her back up toward him - she was struggling furiously and managed to halfway turn in his loosening hold.

She kicked him in the groin and he cursed loudly, tightening his grip on her arms, but when they both hit the ground, him on top and her on her back, stretched fully beneath him. Startled only momentarily by the impact and bleeding from her lower lip, she transformed into a hellcat, twisting beneath him, clawing at his face, desperately trying to free herself from the weight of him.

She swore at him, then bucked, kicked, and fought like the Irish heathen she was - and as much as something within him was succinctly aroused by her display, she had chosen a very public setting and they had quite an audience of rapt passersby.

"Hold still, damn it!"

She didn't listen. He could hear her ragged breathing and choked sobs. Using his weight to subdue her, he hailed a carriage-for-hire and fairly threw her in.

"My wife," he tried to explain himself to the frightened looking cabbie.

The door closed behind him, and he let his grip on her slacken. It was the furthest thing from a wise move on his part. Rather, she opened her mouth and started screaming: "I'm being kidnapped! Help me!"

He clamped a hand over her mouth, then rather ruthlessly exerted his strength, using his weight to subdue her again.

It was _anything_ but a wise move.

He could feel every undulation of her supple, feminine form beneath him. Sinfully suggestive curves were writhing against all the wrong portions of his anatomy.

His body reacted instantly. His heart too. Painfully.

"God damn it!" He bit off a curse as he felt her teeth try to connect with the flesh of his fingers. "Unless you want me to take you here and now, _be still_!"

That and only that got her attention. And something akin to revulsion shot through her - he could feel her body quivering underneath him, and he was absolutely certain that it was with anything but desire.

He waited patiently for several moments, removing his hand from her mouth but keeping her firmly pinned down underneath him. After several moments of hearing no noise save for the clip-clop of the horse's hooves on the cobblestone, he eased his hold on her, turning her around on the carriage seat so that he could look into her face.

They were inches apart; heartbeats, really. Her features were shaded by his head above hers; she wouldn't be able to read his expression anymore than he would hers. And that, he thought to himself, was a blessing indeed.

He had to fight his very core not to look down at her swollen, full lips…nor her eyes…for they were a worse distraction by far. For a face that was really and truly not beautiful, those emerald gems stood out and rendered their bearer unforgettable to any man unlucky enough to fall under her spell…

But he snuck a peek.

Her eyes were wide with fear, framed by the dark curve of her long lashes.

"Why won't you leave me alone?" she uttered, her voice only a shadow of her usual commanding tone.

"I tried," he said sarcastically, but meaning it. Hellfire, but it was inconvenient to be laying in between her slender thighs. He himself had ordered the maid to dress her in only the barest, most essential undergarments. The stockings were sheer and her under-drawers and shift were made of the softest spun cotton…if he were to only lift those skirts…

He flung another epithet at her, which she didn't understand and then subsequently, burst into tears and cried: "I want my Mother! I want my Mother now!"

Then, she seemed to regain some control over her emotions and said very coolly, "Is this how you entertain yourself? Abduct innocent ladies and force yourself on them?"

"I did not abduct you. Nor did I …touch you."

There was real fear in her eyes, and no recognition in them whatsoever.

"I'm telling you the truth, Scarlett. I'm your husband according to God and the State of Georgia. You had an accident and now you can't remember me, and that's that." That's that? What the hell, Butler, he chided himself internally. How inapt you are? Just leave, for Christ's sake. Just send her to Tara and leave while you're still able…

But he had no intention of doing that - not yet, anyway.

A frown formed on his lips as he stared down into her wide eyes. Despite not being able to read their expression, he suddenly understood. She was stimulated by his current position after all! And it had to be frightening to the virginal sensibilities she thought she possessed. Poor thing…her breathing was heavy, panicky, and…sultry? He felt her tremble underneath him, an involuntary response, perhaps - her body remembering what her mind did not? He remembered, certainly…he had made certain that she would never forget him. Even as she had pined for Ashley and banished him from their bedroom, there would always be _that _night…the one night of their marriage that he had left his marks on her body. Scratches, claw marks, bites…dear God, he had used her like the most common whore on the South Side of London and for what - to prove himself his own manliness? His own worth, sense of self? What had he done to the girl that currently resided in the mind of the witch he had sworn to quit? He had ruined her, that's what! Ruined her.

She was tensing underneath him again, the telltale reaction of her body that she could neither tame nor control - what she was made for - what he was made to show her existed…

He would never in a million years have imagined a way in which he could have taught her all that he knew…Hell, she had despised him and scorned him for what came naturally to them both, although she would never admit it.

He deliberately let his hips settle between her thighs, and for a split second, felt like kissing Ashley Wilkes for gifting him with opportunity to do it all over again.

And just like that, reason washed over him. He had wanted to leave. He had been very near to it - he'd been at the train station, for Christ's sake!

Alarm registered in his eyes as he looked down at her pale face, emotions conflicted within those wide doe eyes.

"Now, I'm going to be civilized." That last word caught in his throat.

He froze and swore inwardly as he felt her heart hammering. She was only just a step away from outright palpitations. He could not do this any longer, not even to her…or perhaps, especially not to her…

"But you are my wife, Scarlett. And you're not yourself, and it is very unsafe for you to be in town on your own. Or anywhere, for that matter…Scarlett, look at me."

Tears were filling her eyes. "Where is Mother? And Pa?"

He sighed, and slumped back against the seat cushion. "They aren't here, Scarlett. And you can't go and see them, you understand?"

If she caught his true meaning, she didn't say, merely nodding hollowly and then asking, in that same dead sounding voice. "And were the children today…in the bedroom…_our_ children?"

Again, he felt uneasy with unloading too much information on her - better surely to play it safe. He nodded. "Yes. Wade is twelve and Ella, nearly eight."

Scarlett dragged in a painful breath. "Well, then I bet I've frightened them."

He shrugged, thinking that she was so indifferent to them normally, they would scarcely realize the difference. The carriage pulled to a rather sudden stop; they had clearly reached home.

"Promise not to run away?"

She shook her head numbly, and he lifted her from the conveyance after the cabbie opened the door for him. As he handed the man his fare he kept his eyes fixed on her. She was staggering toward the front door, holding her side. Quickly, he steadied her and carried her unceremoniously through the threshold.

"How do I know?"

"Know what, Scarlett?"

"That you aren't lying. How am I to know that I'm not married to someone else?"

Did she think that marriage to her was some sort of _gift_? But he had no desire to argue further; rather, he steered her into his office. She had her wits firmly under control, he could see that in the brightness of the room, well-lit by the natural light…more like her old self, that stubborn, insufferable Irishman's daughter. The one with whom he had fallen in love.

She narrowed her eyes at him as he came beside her, having produced a document from his desk drawer for her to peruse. He knew its location simply because he had looked at the very same document only recently…when he had contemplated his escape, dreamt of divorce, an amputation from her poison…and now here he was, _convincing_ her that they were married. It was absurdity to the hilt.

She met his gaze after considering the document. "1868. Eight years of my life are gone…" she paused as an unpleasant thought grew in her mind's eye, "…but how _old_ am I?"

"Twenty-eight." Rhett replied automatically. He hadn't known, before yesterday. She had never wanted him to know.

"Oh dear…but that's not…"

He could see her trying the calculations in her head and coming out with strange answers, particularly with the added mysteries of the children's ages. He had told her Wade was twelve, after all. He wished that he had not.

"Don't worry about that now. I'll explain it all to you later."

She blinked. "I don't…I don't understand…"

"You've had a trying day," he agreed. "And you need to rest. You have a concussion and you shouldn't be walking around at all."

She noted his frown, the sudden hardness of his face.

"I'm sorry that I don't remember you. But I simply do not."

He wished that he did not remember her. But he did.

"Permit me?" he moved to carry her, which was nice, she had to admit. She was sore, though, and his hand hit her right in the ribs as he cradled her body next to his -

"Ouch!" she cried. "It hurts just there."

"I apologize. I should have been more careful." His tone was sincere, and filled with regret. And she could look into his face and know that her complaint had hit some sort of nerve…but also a wall. He would tell her nothing more, not yet anyway.

They reached the top of the staircase, and ever-so-gently he carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. He removed her shoes and set them on the floor before nodding politely and moving to leave.

"Get some rest," he said flatly, not looking in her direction.

She attempted to meet his eyes once more. "Mr. Butler?"

"Rhett."

"Rhett. Rhett…how strange it seems to say your name…Rhett? Will you be here when I wake up?"

With a strange look on his face, which she read as cool and contemptuous, he paused and began to study her. It was a good thing that she didn't blush easily!

"I…I'm sorry that you were injured, Scarlett. For my part in worsening it…"

"Well, you were just trying to help, I guess…I mean…since we are married, aren't we?"

He accorded her a nod. "That we are. In sickness and in health, my dear."

She didn't like his sarcastic delivery of the endearment, but she was too tired to care and let her eyes flutter closed. Unbeknownst to him, however, she stole a glimpse of his swaying hips as he exited the room, the supreme confidence of his walk…and then she heard the door shut, and a lock this time…

Wretched man.

Damned woman, he thought to himself as he turned the key. He wasn't about to let her wander loose the corridors of the house _or_ the streets of Atlanta again. Ever.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Sigh, I really tried to update this quickly (but with enough substance!). I really should be doing papers but in order to thank everyone that has reviewed and favorited, etc, I decided to write a bit today. I hope this is long enough to wet your appetite for the time being! The first few chapters might seem a bit "introductory", but I have to set a few things down before some of the "fun stuff" comes rolling. Regardless, I hope you are enjoying it so far! Let me know your thoughts! -NJ<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**What She Said**

**Chapter 6:**

Whatever protest she might have made at being locked in her own bedroom was quickly forgotten in the sense of relief that settled within her as she snuggled in the warm covers. It was so warm and comforting, and not long at all before sleep claimed her, and Scarlett knew nothing more…

Nothing except for the dream that came to her in the night; in it, she was a child again, perhaps five or six, playing in the orchard of Tara with Ashley, aged twelve or so. Everything seemed very large in her dream - or perhaps she was simply very small. She could hear voices above her, and Ashley had left her by herself in the orchard. A misty rain began to fall, increasing steadily as Scarlett-in-the-dream wailed for her mother to come and find her. And then, suddenly, a familiar sounding man's voice spoke to her with a trace of humor. "Are you lost, Scarlett?" He picked her up and she giggled happily as he gave her a peck on the cheek. She tried following him, but she awoke before she did so - and the memory of the dream was washed away just as his presence had washed away her tears…

Scarlett woke early the next morning, although she lay in bed for a good hour staring unseeing up at the ceiling, attempting all the while to conjure up some sort of memory of her husband and children. Regardless of her failure on that end, not to mention the agony of seeing Ashley the day before looking so very old and worn, she considered carefully both what she knew and what she was obligated to do.

She had to find Mother and Pa and Mammy. She had to find them and tell them that she was alright, at least; even though Rhett had said that she couldn't go to them, to think that they were lost to her was intolerable, and she was only more desperate and urgent in her need. But Rhett had the answers; that much she knew. So, she fixed her hopes on him, supposing that he would reveal all that she had missed out on…

She heaved a sigh - there was _so _much she did not know, so many details. Ashley was probably married for starters, but to whom? And there had been people present at that wake yesterday who had appeared to know her well…or of her, at least…and they were all perfect strangers to her. The old man had mentioned something about someone named Melanie. It's Melanie's wake, he had said. But who was Melanie? Someone she should have known, obviously.

Disappointment dragged at her, but her failure to remember wasn't the sole source of her escalating worry.

She had a husband. A husband who "owned" her, in a manner of speaking, who could control her actions, despite her having no recollection of ceding all of her rights to him. She closed her eyes, attempting to recall his features in her mind. She could almost feel his rough hands on her body - certainly in her ribs, where he had fallen on her. But she couldn't allow those _feelings_ to distract her. A lady did not feel such things for her husband, her Mother was always telling her. And she had to be a lady about it; she owed it to Mother and to Mammy…and to Rhett, she supposed.

With a sigh, she tossed back the covers and slipped off her nightgown, heading for the washstand. To her pleasant surprise, her maid had already brought the washing water to her room, and Scarlett splashed her face and dabbed it dry with a cloth. She walked next to the armoire and opened the double doors wide, surveying the seemingly endless array of gowns and underclothes and silk stockings and glorious slippers of all colors and considered, even with the circumstances being what they were, what gown she should don to most effectively give the husband she had no recollection of a favorable impression.

Several minutes passed before she rang the silver bell on her nightstand, summoning the maid, who entered almost instantly, fresh towels in hand.

"You'ze all dressed, Miz Scarlett-"

"Yes I am, and if you'll please tell Mr. Butler that I wish to speak to him."

The maid stared at her confusedly, then bobbed her head and said, "Yes'm."

She sighed again, smoothing invisible wrinkles in her skirt, blushing as she did so. She had chosen a gown for its simplicity and lack of buttons, although she did like the black and white stripes and the scooped neckline and the ruffled hem. It was an attractive dress, but not immodest - something that her mother would have worn while accompanying her Pa to Court Day, perhaps. Pa would have kissed Mother's hand and told her how fine she looked in that gown…but would Rhett think that she looked fine? Did he even notice such things? Should she have asked the maid to fix her hair before sending for him? Would he take offense and think her a heathen? Mother surely let her hair loose in the privacy of her own bedroom…didn't she?

She didn't have to wait long to find out, as she could hear Rhett's footfalls on the staircase, the maid's behind him.

"Mrs. Butler," he bowed politely. "How are you this morning?"

He gave not the slightest indication of having noticed her attire.

"Fine, thank you."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you."

She refocused her gaze on Rhett, allowing her eyes to take in his dark good looks. Her husband was handsome, there was no denying that…but what it something to be treasured…or a curse? Which was it fate had handed her? When she recovered her memory, would she name it as either? If fate had either blessed her or damned her, she had no way of knowing. She wasn't completely certain that she wanted to know.

Something in that line of thinking, the uncertainty perhaps, caused her heart to feel like lead. As if he sensed her unease, Rhett's eyes swept her. She responded with a light smile.

"Have you decided how to tell the children?"

She didn't dare try to read his eyes; although she could tell full well that he was reading hers. "Do you think that they'll think I'm horrible for not remembering them?"

"No, not really," he responded. "I've already prepared them. But you don't have to meet them today, if you don't feel up to it. You certainly had a long day yesterday."

"Did someone I know die?"

"What makes you think that?"

"That man said it, and Ashley…Ashley was so strange. And I was clearly the only one there not in mourning. All of the women were weeping and acting as if I should have known…"

He looked hesitant. "I don't suppose you remember Melanie."

"Melanie who?"

"Melanie Hamilton, I suppose she would be to you…"

"Ashley's cousin, of course. From Atlanta. Her Aunt Pittypat is the silliest old woman I've ever met and her brother Charlie is scared of his own shadow."

Rhett looked slightly bemused at her comment, although his tone was somber. "Melanie died, Scarlett."

"Oh…oh dear. And that was why Ashley was there. Well they're cousins, aren't they... Poor Ashley."

"You realize, of course, Scarlett, that Ashley hasn't been free all of these years which you can't seem to remember."

She forced a smile. "Well naturally he got married. It'd be unnatural if he hadn't. I did, didn't I? Was our wedding awfully grand, Rhett?"

He was taken aback, thinking that she'd want to know more about Ashley. Instead, she was putting the question about their own wedding to him. Strange indeed, this world without Ashley. Without the hurts of the past and the horrid things they had said to one another lurking in her memory to haunt him.

He arched a dark eyebrow reprovingly. "Are you certain you wish to hear the particulars, Scarlett? Only yesterday the idea of being married to me was repulsive at best -"

"Well yes, but," she bit her lip as he continued to stare at her impassively. "Well, we are married, though, and I would like to make an attempt at being a good wife."

He merely smirked. "A good wife?"

"Yes, I mean…I only know that I am married to you and can't remember a thing - why are you laughing? Stop it! Stop laughing at me!"

"I'm sorry, Scarlett -"

She clasped a hand to her forehead and cried out in desperation. "I only know that I'm frightened out of my wits and you're just _standing_ there looking amused. Am I not a good wife to you, Rhett?"

You're a terrible wife, he thought vindictively…and a terrible mother. But she had no way of knowing that, and even he wasn't so cruel as to tell her.

"Are you going to tell me, Rhett?"

"Later, perhaps. We can discuss some of the…particulars…of how our marriage is atypical."

"Atypical?"

He nodded. "Right now, I don't wish to ruin my appetite by remembering all that rot. I'm sure that you haven't forgotten that Miss Melly's funeral is today, so I'll need to make ready after breakfast."

"Melly's funeral…should I go with you? Would she…would she want me there?"

He didn't want her there; hell, he didn't want to be near her…but he hadn't had much of a say in the matter. And Miss Melly would want her there, after all…

"I'd rather you not, particularly given your performance at the wake yesterday." He realized the brusqueness of his tone was not necessary to make his point; her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. "But she did love you," he granted. "…no one in Atlanta can question that."

"She did? I barely remember her except for a few short words at Twelve Oaks…She and I were friends, then? She's…she was Ashley's wife, wasn't she?"

"Yes. How did you…"

She shrugged. "It makes sense. He looked so forlorn yesterday; of course he did, his wife just died. And Melly was his cousin, and the Wilkes's have been marrying their kin since Brian Boru was a boy."

"Ah." What was he supposed to say now? "Would you like some breakfast, Scarlett? And to say hello to the children?"

She nodded and followed him down the long hallway. He was halfway down the staircase before he realized that she had only come as far as the balustrade, which she peered over with trepidation.

"I can't go down," she said softly.

"You managed yesterday."

"I was in a panic - I was frightened."

"You've never been afraid of anything in your life."

"Oh but I have - Rhett?"

"Hmm?" He walked back up slowly, addressing her query but not looking her in the eyes.

"Are you angry with me?"

He put a strong arm around her waist and allowed her to lean into him as he guided the way. He muttered under his breath, "Perhaps what we need is a house with no stairs…"

"Rhett?"

"What?"

"Did I..? I mean, have I done something wrong?"

"No." He struggled to keep his ire in check. He had been up the entire night agonizing over what to do with her, how to treat her, how to handle the children and himself…and he was in no mood to moddycoddle her. And he sure as hell didn't want to be left alone with her.

As they reached the final step, Scarlett scanned the large room and flicked a cautious glance about the interior. She liked the rich opulence of the room; however, there were no servants around to serve as a buffer between herself and her, what was his word, _atypical_ husband. The proximity with which he was holding her left her feeling immensely vulnerable, even if she was supposedly several years married to the man and the mother of his children.

Her eyes wandered slowly across the marble foyer and the large oaken door. She sought to thrust aside a flash of a gruesome memory - as if that very white floor had been stained with blood…

"Oh God!" she cried, burying her face into his shoulder.

He jerked back unconsciously. "What is it?"

"I…I don't know. I don't know. I closed my eyes for a second and all I saw was blood everywhere."

He seemed to go pale for a second, but found his voice after a second or two of silence. "The dining room," he flipped his wrist toward the adjacent room. "The children…" He cleared his throat as she stepped away from him and began to walk toward the room. He noticed that she avoided walking over the very spot where she had fallen.

The second time.

The blood would have been from the first time. The time he had very nearly killed her. The time he had killed his own child. He only meant to toss a brief glance in her direction, but his eyes lingered on her departing figure, losing their hardness as he took in her form. She had selected a pretty dress, one which he had bought for her in New Orleans and she had worn once before quickly upgrading to something more showy. She was so appealing, so demure in her bedraggled state…and yet, his pride refused to yield so easily, not when he had promised himself that he would quit her forever. This situation was temporary, he placated himself. She would be herself again soon; either that or her condition would stabilize, and he would make the dignified exit Ashley Wilkes had cheated him out of -

He followed her into the dining room and pulled out a chair for her.

"Do I not sit at the head?" she asked with bewilderment. "Mother always sits at the head."

He didn't know how best to respond to that; he hadn't the foggiest notion of where she took her breakfast these days. She was never awake at this hour when he had shared her bed and after she had expelled him from their quarters, he was never at home for breakfast. "It seems that we change places from time to time. But if you'd like the head, you're welcome to sit there."

"Oh," was the best reply she could muster as she took her seat.

Turning aside in an attempt to distance himself from her, Rhett cleared his throat again. "I'll go upstairs and ask the children to come down, and in the meantime, it shouldn't take more than a few minutes for someone to prepare our meal. Until then, stay here. Do you understand?"

Her forehead wrinkled in displeasure at being ordered around so, but she merely said, "Yes."

His promise was confirmed by his swift return with the two children following in his wake. Scarlett was still sitting where he had left her, but she stood up immediately when they filed in. The little girl, a miniature of her mother's mother in looks (Solange Robillard's auburn hair had been legend, after all!), was holding tightly onto Rhett's hand, while the boy, the eldest at twelve years old, Rhett had said, in looks slender and pale rather than swarthy like Rhett, had claimed his place on Rhett's other side. The stubborn set of both children's chins reminded Scarlett forcibly of someone…Pa, of course! No doubt that Pa loved them both; that they emulated him because they loved him as much as she did.

Rhett's gaze was fixed on her. He clearly was interested in her reaction to the children, the both of whom seemed frightened out of their wits.

She tried to recall all of her mother's genteel grace and poise, and hoped that she was able to channel at least a portion of it on a daily basis; her mother had raised her to be a mother, after all.

"Good morning, darlings," she smiled. "I'm very glad to see you."

The boy looked as if he was quelling an impulse to turn around and head in the opposite direction - that he was so uneasy about her irritated her, so she approached them.

"Wade Hampton, aren't you going to greet your mother?" Rhett elbowed the boy.

He waited until she had gotten eye level with him, before allowing the tiniest movement in his mouth. "Hello, Mother," he mumbled.

"Hello, Wade. And Ella," she greeted the little girl.

The little girl jerked back at her touch. God's nightgown, they were terrified of her!

At least she spoke first. "Good morning, Mother. I prayed for you all night."

"Thank you, darling," she smiled down at her. "Mother's feeling much better today."

"How can you be feeling _better_?" Wade cried, startling her. "Aunt Melly is dead. How can any of you be feeling better?"

"Stop it right now," Rhett growled dangerously, gripping the boy firmly by the arm.

"I know that this is all very hard for you-" Scarlett began, but the boy freed himself from Rhett's grasp and fled the room.

"Damn it," Rhett grunted, then followed him, leaving little Ella standing there, bewildered. Scarlett leaned forward and touched Ella's cheek, which made the little girl grin. "I'm glad you're better, Mother. Wade's just sad, 'cause of Aunt Melly. And I told him not to be sad, 'cause she's in Heaven like Bonnie and Gran'pa and Gran'ma O'Hara and my daddy and his daddy."

"You're…what…did…my…"

"Mother?" Ella looked frightened. "Mother? Mother! Uncle Rhett! Come quick!"

He was in the room like a flash, grabbing hold of her as she screamed in agony and struggled against him and pounded his chest with her fists. Her head thrashed against his shoulder and she began to wail hysterically, struggling to get away from him as if he had become the devil himself.

"Oh nooo! Please, not Pa and Mother! Nooo!"

A feeling of dread swept over Rhett as she collapsed in his arms in a dead faint. He was as tormented as she was, internally. What was that Miss Melly had said, as she had so soothingly stroked his hair as he wept his eyes out in her lap after Scarlett's miscarriage, "She's going to get well. There, there, Captain Butler, don't cry. Don't cry! She's going to get well."

But there was no Miss Melly to soothe either of them. She was gone; and all that which Scarlett had loved was gone. She had lost many of the dark memories which haunted them, but she was left with only pale, spiritless imitations of those whom she had loved. Ashley, Wade and Ella, himself…He had been a fool to think for a moment that he could return her to that time and place of free abandon, sitting underneath a shaded tree surrounded by a dozen beaux - just as he had been a fool to think that he could bury himself in that fine old city by the sea and forget about her.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> **I know short on action...but hopefully good? I love to hear what you think! I know this sounds manipulative, but when I get reviews I get motivated to write more and faster! Hope you enjoyed! ;)**


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